Broken Road
by Eat Me - I'm Yummy
Summary: "Do what you do, say what you say, don't waste no time on yesterdays, cash in your ticket to ride. Don't let them talk you into walking into no one else's shoes, don't be no sucker in line." – Beth Hart.


**Header:** Contest entry for Lyrics to Life Contest

**Title:** Broken Road

**Pairing**: No pairing, a Bella story, mixed with Emmett, Edward, Alice and Lauren Mallory

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities or song lyrics herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** _"Do what you do, say what you say, don't waste no time on yesterdays, cash in your ticket to ride. Don't let them talk you into walking into no one else's shoes, don't be no sucker in line."_ – **Beth Hart.**

**A/N:** The opinions of the characters in no way reflect the opinions of the author.

* * *

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

It wouldn't be the first time that I woke up to the sound of a loud honk as a speeding car passed me by.

I sit up in the backseat and pull my legs in from where they've been sticking out the window all night. At the bottom of the car Thirteen sits up, yawning and eyes still half-closed.

It's been a long night as usual.

Stretching my arms above my head, I knock my wrist into the roof and wince; fucker is all swollen and purple. What the hell happened to it?

As I climb out into the warm heat of the summer morning, I try to remember what I did last night. I see the image of another bar in another city as I pop open the trunk and root through my things.

I got hammered; that's no surprise.

I pull my tank over my head, sniffing through a few other shirts before determining which is the cleanest. Rubbing some roll-on under my pits, I cover myself up again and shut the trunk. I move almost as if on auto-pilot, still trying to remember the night before.

I've never had any reason or need to keep my memories of getting wasted so it's not an easy feat for me.

I wait for Thirteen to do her business while I lean against the car and run through the evening. I went to a bar, drank free drinks all night, and did body shots on the table by the jukebox. Some dude had his hands down my pants before midnight, but I went back inside after he left.

Without getting me off, I might add.

Asshat.

Tail wagging happily Thirteen runs up to me, tongue hanging out her mouth. I smile and pat her on the head; she's the best part of my world these days.

"Come on, sugar, let's get back on the road," I open the passenger door and wait for her to hop in.

Ten minutes later, as we make our way down the long road, I'm still trying to figure out my last night. Especially since my fucking wrist won't stop throbbing like a motherfucker.

Ouch, dammit.

Normally I would just shrug it off and then move on, but this injury is pissing me off for some reason. Maybe because it's more severe than anything I've had since I was a kid; usually I just get scrapes and light-yellow bruises. This new one is obviously more serious than that.

Thirteen is yapping happily beside me, singing along with whatever song plays on the radio, as I take the turn off the small country road and onto the freeway.

I realize that I have no idea what State I'm currently in and mentally remind myself to check the next sign I come across.

It'd be nice to know where I'm drinking tonight.

Speeding down the long road is one of the most freeing feelings in the world and it always puts a smile on my face. At times it even reminds me of the first time I got behind a wheel and just drove, no direction in mind.

I was fifteen and packing a fake ID worthy of any police inspection.

My cop father would be so proud.

Thirteen begins to howl, as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking, simultaneously with me finally discovering exactly which State this is.

Alabama.

Wonderful.

As if it isn't bad enough being in the fucking Bible belt of America, it also happens to be the one place where I'm wanted by the goddamn law.

Isn't life perfect?

Unfortunately I quickly find that I have no other choice; I'm running low on gas and the closest city is Montgomery.

Sighing, I look over at Thirteen as if communicating to her that things are about to get stressful. And again it seems she almost understands me as she turns her head and offers me what looks like a sympathetic glance before looking back outside her window.

I reach out and run a hand over her back, as a thank you, before my eyes return to the road.

Only a few miles left to go before the turn-off.

I can't wait.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

"It looks pretty banged up, darlin'. What did you do, slam it in a door?" The question was followed by a chuckle and I had to swallow my first defensive reaction to her words.

I really shouldn't hit a nurse.

Right?

Instead, I counted to ten in my head before answering her. "Yeah, my car door."

I had finally remembered the events of the previous evening. Apparently I had been solely responsible for my injury; after drunkenly getting into my seat, I hadn't paid attention as I slammed the door shut and ended up with a busted hand for my efforts.

"Alright, then. Let me just go get the doctor and we'll get this thing wrapped up in no time."

I sighed as the door shut behind her and leaned back, the gray paper crinkling underneath me. I really hated free clinics but didn't exactly have any other choice. Not if I wanted to keep my hand from someday having to be amputated.

I'm sure I'm not exaggerating.

This was the second place I stopped in after reaching Montgomery; the first had been a gas station. I still couldn't help but smile as I remembered the infuriated anger on the attendants face as I drove off without paying.

He was practically foaming at the mouth, fist pumping into the air and I wondered if it would come out of his paycheck.

Oh, well.

My foot tapped impatiently on the cot, waiting for the nurse to return; I had to get back to Thirteen before she got out again. Last time it had taken me two days to find her, after I returned to an empty car and a wide open window.

That damned intelligent canine had somehow worked the lever.

Just when I was convinced that I would be waiting here all night, which wouldn't be the first time, the nurse returned with a doctor in tow.

"'Bout time," I grumbled under my breath, immediately holding out my wrist so we could get this over with.

The brisk summer wind blew through my hair a half hour later as I stepped out onto the street, a fresh cast on my left hand.

Fucking awesome.

People kept staring at me as I made my way through the afternoon crowd and I wondered if it was because of the surly frown on my lips, the deathly ice in my eyes, or the shirt I wore.

It said something that wasn't suitable for children and let's just leave it at that.

When I passed through an area heavy with shops and businesses, it didn't take long for me to notice the billboard thrown up over a three-story building; it was pretty impossible to ignore. And it only deepened my scowl.

Why did I have to see this bitch everywhere?

And why today of all days?

Scantily clad and lying seductively on a lilac plush divan, long golden tresses fanning all around her, lay Rosalie fucking Hale; my half-sister, loath as I was to admit it, even to myself.

She was a class-A bitch and so many other, much less nicer, words.

I was only two when my mother and her boy toy at the time had the little princess buttercup. And that was also about the time that any memories of a happy childhood disappeared; because I wasn't Rosalie. I didn't have silky blonde hair, icy blue eyes or the complexion of a Nordic Goddess.

Barf.

Who wanted that anyway? I liked who I was. I liked my long, chocolate colored hair that glowed red in direct sunlight. I liked my doe-ish brown eyes with flecks of gold in them. I absolutely loved my skinny figure, B-cup breasts and freckled, toned stomach.

Wouldn't trade it for the world, seriously.

But that wasn't special enough for my mother. Personally I think she just liked all of the attention it got her, being the mother of such a beautiful daughter. Let's all forget that Rosalie was anything but lovely on the inside.

Even to Renee.

My sister's behavior had actually been the last straw that finally made me leave; I couldn't stay in that castle of doom anymore.

Not if I wanted to stay as sane as possible.

I didn't leave a note because I knew they wouldn't care. I didn't hide from authority because I knew they wouldn't be looking for me. I didn't attempt to disappear because I knew they would pass me by on the street and pretend not to know me.

Rosalie the Precious was nineteen now and probably some sorority sister in a college somewhere. She was probably dating some rich frat boy, giggling her days away with a gaggle of equally dimwitted bitches and dreaming of the perfect life.

And just as she didn't care, neither did I.

Except maybe for the day when I could dance on her grave while waving sparklers in the air.

Tired enough as it was, and in an entirely too sucky mood to deal with this right now, I move my gaze away from the billboard and continue walking ahead.

Thirteen is eagerly awaiting my return when I walk up to the car; I can see that the window is lower than I left it three hours ago.

Silly dog.

"Hey, chicklet, how 'bout we go for a run?" I asked and I knew she understood me when her tail started wagging.

Instead of driving around for hours looking for a forest that might not be in this forsaken city, I let her out on the sidewalk and locked the door again; it wasn't like I gave two shits about the opinions of other people.

And so, starting in a slow jog, we began our trek through Montgomery, Alabama.

It really was a fucking gorgeous day.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

Pulling the curtain aside I see that the sun has finally gone down and night has arrived. I smile around my Ace and turn to Thirteen, raising one brow at her.

She knows she's about to be left alone for the night; as she is every night.

I take one last draw and put out the cig in the nearest ashtray, walking over to the small bed in the even smaller motel room, where I get my bag out from under it. Though broke as I am, every big city has a seedy motel with an even seedier manager who is more than willing to let a pretty girl stay for free.

Of course, the fugly bastard is expecting something from me that he's never going to get.

That's what you get for not getting paid up front.

Fucker.

I may be a lot of things but whore is not one of them.

Despite what my mother would tell you.

After I'm dressed to my own liking I put out some food and water for Thirteen and hand her a treat; she always gets one for being such a good girl and surviving on her own every night. Patting her on the head and saying goodbye, for now, I lock the motel room behind me.

Another good thing about what those managers expect from me is that none of them dare touch my baby for fear that I won't put out if they do.

Whistling loudly, I make my way down the dark street, passing the occasional person now and again. I offer a wicked smile to the auburn haired prostitute on one of the corners, when she yells out a compliment for my eight-inch hooker heels, and then keep moving.

I try not to admit it, but this isn't such a bad place. Not that I have any intention of ever settling down; that life's not for me. But if I was that kind of girl, this would definitely be in my top five of all the places I've been.

Which happens to be every single State in this godforsaken country, except Hawaii; I ain't swimming anywhere, thank you very much.

When I pass through the same boulevard as earlier I forcefully keep my head down. Once is more than enough for the same day and I don't need to be reminded, yet again, of all the things I'm not. At least, in my so-called mother's eyes.

Sighing deeply once I turn the corner, I stuff my hands in my tiny pockets and try to ward of the chill that has suddenly set in; despite the warmth of an Alabama summer night.

Maybe I'm just imagining it.

Five minutes later I come across a place that looks like a fit, if only for this one night; Mixers. From the outside I can already tell what kind of establishment it is, thanks to years of this routine. It's owned by the people who bartend, has fifty percent regulars, and is the go-to place when all the clubs have closed down for the night.

Which means it will be picking up in an hour or so.

Perfect.

Throwing back my hair and wetting my lips, I prepare for what's coming up, and enter Mixers with a silent bang… meaning that, despite my soundless entry, all eyes still turn on me.

It's a gift.

Gazes roving over me, and my body, is something I'm more than used to. It's like I always say; it's not about looking like the hottest woman in the room, it's about having the confidence to think you're the hottest woman in the room.

And that's definitely me.

As the stares continue I kick it up a notch by mentally thinking what always gets me going the most. Oh yeah, I know I'm fuck-hot. It shines out of my eyes like a fucking beacon, hitting everything in my path.

Every single person in this place wants to bend me over their table; including the women.

I smirk at the room and sashay over to the bar, hopping onto a stool and batting my eyes at the bartender. A big, burly man with a dimpled smile and muscles for days.

I bet he's got stamina like no other.

"Well, hello there, hot stuff," he says, leaning over the bar until his warm breath hits my skin. "What can I do for you, sweetness?" The double entendre does not go unnoticed.

I copy his stance, leaning in on my elbows, which, of course, pushes my breasts even further out. "How 'bout some Jack D., darling?" He sets it down on the counter before I continue, the glass to my mouth. "And make sure it's on the house."

He grins, obviously impressed with my balls, nods and then turns to another customer.

I make it to my third glass before another bartender steps behind the bar. Now, while I am definitely not the kinda girl to swoon over some dude, this has got to be the sexiest specimen of man I have ever seen.

Ruffled hair the color of a burning fire, which I suddenly feel an urge to run my fingers through, he looks like he just rolled out of bed. Despite the warmness of the city his skin is slightly paler than most of the customers in here, but it only lends to his fuck-o-meter possibilities.

His eyes are the same shade as the trees from my hometown and shine with a sheen of lust and insanity that instantly turns me fully on; I am more than ready for him. While his burly colleague is more than muscled, this guy has just enough strength for me to know that he can hold me up against a wall while he fucks the living shit out of me.

God, I've never been so wet before in my life and I almost fidget in my seat.

It's like he's got magical powers over my va-jay-jay.

Damn.

"Hey, Edward," the other guy calls out and then the two of them begin to whisper while occasionally glancing at me.

Hmm, not the sexiest name in the world, but I can work with it.

When I drain my fourth cup of JD, Edward is standing in front of me, bottle in hand. His smirk is crooked and hot as shit as he pours another finger into the glass.

It's all I can do not to pull him over the counter and ride him right there.

"Emmett tells me you're getting free drinks for the rest of the night," he says, voice like melted honey and liquid sex. "But I say you need to earn that right."

I purse my lips into a smile, tilting my head to the side to study him. "And how do I go about doing that, then?" I ask, my eyes glinting with amusement.

He leans in over the bar, short tee showing off his perfectly sculpted arms, veins straining against the skin, and whispers for only me to hear. "I've got some ideas, gorgeous."

"Is that so?" I smirk, more than used to making sultry promises that are never met.

Although this time might be different; he'd certainly be worth the fuck, however long he could last.

Men were very rarely up for the task that was a woman like me.

Whether they knew it or not.

All Edward does is stare at me, that same crooked smile stuck permanently onto his pale face. We stay like that for what seems like three lifetimes, simply staring at each other as if daring the other to look away first.

I'm perhaps a bit too smug when I end up winning because this Emmett dude calls out for his colleague.

That's when I notice that I must have been engaged in that strange staring contest for a bit longer than I knew; the bar is all but full now. All the dancing queens and gyrating jimmy's have left the clubs and come here for a few more hours of fun before they call it a night.

I'm finally drunk enough to stop caring about anything or anyone around me; not that I do a lot of that in my sober state, but still.

I lean as far back on the stool as I can without falling, hearing the tell-tale crack going up my spine as I try to work out the kinks. Over an hour in the same position, no pun intended, is not good for the bones.

After I finish rolling my neck Edward is back standing in front of me on the other side of the bar. This time he's not looking at me, but I can see the smile on his face despite the bowed head and I know he has no other reason for being here.

I'm sitting at the end of the bar by the jukebox and the next two seats are completely empty.

The fucker is playing with me; but he doesn't know that I invented the game.

Idiot's gonna get played… and hard.

"So, you own this?" I speak, not elaborating any further.

His jade eyes make their way up my body before meeting my own brown ones, smirk still in place. "Yeah, Emmett and I bought this a few years back. Working here ourselves means saving money we would normally spend on employees."

I nod my head slowly. "Smart move, Eddie boy. Bet it's a great way to pick up chicks; the old I-own-my-own-bar line. With a handy liquor license, of course," I add, grinning up at him.

"Oh, baby," he says, returning my grin. "I don't need tricks to get tail, I just need to look like this," he chuckles, waving a hand up and down his tall, lean body.

Gotta say, I'm not exactly surprised. But the ass is still full of himself.

Not that I'm any better, of course.

"Uh huh," I say, deliberately teasing him.

Even though I've decided to let him have his way with me later, there's no need to advertise that. Let him chase me a bit, it'll do his ego some good.

"So, you got a name, beautiful?" he asks, still leaning only inches from me.

I can feel his warm breath on my face and I try not to be intoxicated by the scent; god, he's fucking gorgeous… even his damn breath.

Seriously.

"Sure do and you just guessed it," I smiled, getting out of my seat and moving toward the jukebox. "Now come over here and put some shit in this machine so I can pick a song. This one's giving me a headache." I frowned as the severe tones of Ke$ha sprang out from the speakers.

I ignored the contemplative look on his face as he stood beside me, feeding the box penny after penny until I could choose a tune. I studied the list for a long time, bottom lip stuck under my teeth, before finally falling on one I was surprised to see in here.

"Wow, you guys actually have taste. Who knew?" I teased Edward, punching in the right code until the sweet sound of Aerosmith pulsed through the room.

As the song moved into the electrifying chorus, I started slowly moving my body to the rhythm; knowing all the while that Edward was watching me from a few feet away.

I twisted and spun, hands touching myself softly and eyes half-closed, fully aware of the reaction I was getting from most of the room; and that was only because I couldn't count the ones that were passed out drunk in the corners.

I could hear someone give an appreciative whistle, followed by a booming laugh, and I had to force myself not to look for the owner. From the direction, however, I guessed that it was the other bartender; Emmett.

If there was anything in this world that I enjoyed doing, it was driving a room full of people up the wall with only a few choice moves. The ability to do that wasn't something I had been taught; it wasn't something that could be taught, I was sure.

It was a part of me, ingrained deeply inside.

When the song came to an end, I laughed as three different men rose from their seats, rushed to the jukebox and fought over who would choose the same song, again.

But they could fight all they wanted; I was through dancing… for now.

I got back in my seat and emptied my glass before purposely calling out for Emmett. Like I said, Edward will have to chase me if he wants me to give him a shot.

Speaking of shots.

"What can I do for you, sugar?" he grinned, dimpled smile lighting up his whole face.

If it wasn't for his fuck-hot friend Emmett would be getting lucky tonight, that's for damn sure.

"You can get me three shots and you can get three for yourself as well, handsome," I replied, getting tired of drinking alone.

It wasn't something I was used to; I usually found the loudest table, filled with the guys most willing to take out their wallet, and stayed there for the night. But with my attraction to Edward, and readiness to take him on later, I knew I needed to stay close.

I wasn't losing him to one of the other bitches around here who were practically fucking him with their eyes.

Whores.

When I finally stopped shooting daggers around the room I saw that Emmett had returned with my request. But he didn't pour just yet; instead his eyes were fixed on the clock to his right. I couldn't figure out why until Edward came out of the backroom, a huge smirk on his face.

He walked to the other end of the bar, pulled on a thick rope, and shouted out over the sound of the bell. "It's officially midnight, people, and you know what that means!"

The entire room instantly began to scream and smile and I wondered if I was the only non-regular in the place.

I raised an eyebrow at a grinning Emmett who was busy pouring our six shots with pure vodka.

"It's a tradition here at Mixers," he said, once he looked up from his task. "Another perk of being our own bosses. When midnight comes, Edward and I allow ourselves to get drunk with the rest of the bar."

Ah, now I get it. I smiled, clinked my small glass with his and downed the burning liquid.

It didn't take long for the entire atmosphere in the room to shift dramatically. Girls were removing their clothing, guys were getting more than friendly with the same sex, and both Emmett and Edward were losing the inhibitions that most bartenders were forced to have.

And I knew right in that moment; it was going to be a great night.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

My throat feels like a diseased rodent crawled up and died as I slowly blink awake and wonder why my back hurts like a motherfucker.

Until I notice where I am.

Great. I passed out on the fucking bar. I'm lying on how many years' worth of sticky drinks, cigarette ash and perhaps a little something of a million other things.

What the hell happened last night?

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. This is the second night in a row that I don't remember. After checking myself over mentally I sigh in relief; at least I don't have any injuries this time.

But obviously the night got away from me. I was supposed to go somewhere with the sex-on-legs bartender/owner and now I don't even know where he went off to.

If some other floozy got her claws in him, I will scream.

He was mine.

Placing my hands on the bar, I push myself forward until I'm sitting up and my surprisingly bare feet are resting on one of the stools. Head throbbing, I search the room with my eyes, trying to find my heels. No way am I stepping down until they are back on my feet.

Who knows what disease I might get from this disgusting place?

It doesn't look quite as appetizing in the daylight, let me tell you.

Groaning out loud, I wonder why I'm the only one in here; did neither of the guys notice I was still here when they locked up?

I suspect I'll get my answer soon enough as a tired but pleased Emmett steps through the back door. He doesn't look surprised to see me, instead he smirks and shakes his head, scratching at his dark curls.

"Morning, Sally," he says and I tilt my head to the side.

"Who the fuck is Sally?" I reply, with a voice that sounds much grubbier than it's supposed to.

But he just shakes his head again. "Did you have a good night's sleep?" he asks, this time with a bit less tease in his voice. "You looked so peaceful when I locked up and I didn't want to disturb you."

I roll my eyes at his apparent thoughtfulness and swing my body around so my bare feet are on the bar instead. I deliberately tap one foot, trying to get his attention on the situation at hand, before I even think about asking any more questions.

It takes several seconds but his hangover-addled brain eventually catches on.

"Ah, right. I think I saw them," he drags out the last word, bending over and searching for what I hope are my shoes. "I knew I was right," he shouts, coming back over to me, the straps of my heels between his fingers.

"Where were they?" I ask, not really caring either way as I put them back where they belong.

He shrugs. "Someone used them as darts so I put them away when one of the girls almost had her eye poked out."

My head snaps up but he has moved away and is by the register, going through the earnings of the previous night. So I did as him; shrugged my shoulders and immediately decided to forget what he'd said.

It was too strange to even contemplate, to be honest.

"Where's your buddy?" I ask, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

I probably failed, if you took the smirk on his face into consideration.

"In the back, sleeping it off. Go see for yourself," he smiles as if he has some secret that I'm not privy to.

Brows furrowed, I stare up at him, but he doesn't elaborate. Shrugging, I move off the bar and walk toward the door leading to the back.

Walking past boxes of alcohol, straws and coasters, I feel like I'm in a maze until I turn a corner and see the last thing I had been expecting.

Fucking man-whore.

On a pile of dirty towels on the floor lies Edward; in the arms of some cunt with too much makeup on. From the unzipped pants and missing tank it's obvious what happened here.

He obviously found someone who didn't pass out after too much alcohol.

Fucker.

Well, guess who just missed out on the best lay he'd ever get. When it came to me there were no second chances. I roll my eyes at the bitch's snoring and turn on my heel; it was time to get the hell out and back to Thirteen.

I stop at the door leading back to the bar, smirk on my face; but not before I exacted some revenge.

"Hey, Emmett?" I call out as I return to the bar.

"Yeah?" he replies, looking up from the register.

"Edward's awake and needs help with something. He was pretty hard to understand, though, so I thought I just come get you," I say, a completely innocent look on my face.

He didn't question it. "Fuck, what now." He moves past me, a frown on his face. "I swear, that dude can't find his own balls half the time," he mutters under his breath as he walks into the back room.

As soon as the door shuts I pull a chair under the handle, locking the three of them inside. Smile on my face, I move over to the register and pull every single dollar from it, stuffing it into my small pockets. When there's no more room I grab the remaining cash, lining my bra with it.

Fucker would pay for disappointing me and my needy pussy.

Before I could shut the register I notice a familiar item lying in one of the drawers; a car key. I grab that as well, ignoring the sounds of Emmett banging on the door, cursing me to the hottest fires of hell.

He has obviously figured out exactly what's going on.

Smart man.

The door slams shut behind me and I revel in the heat of the early morning as I make my way toward the parking lot a few feet away. Not a single vehicle is any good, certainly no better than my own, but then this isn't so much about stealing a car; it's about making that bastard pay.

I finally put the key in the right lock after going through three other cars… fourth time is apparently the charm. It's an old and, quite frankly, rusted Chevy Nova, but it will get the trick done at the very least.

God, I hope this will smart.

I crawl inside the tiny car and start the engine, reaching over to check the glove compartment. I snort out loud at what I find; who the hell leaves a pink slip in the car.

I stare at the name (Elizabeth Masen) and wonder how her Chevy ended up with Edward. Then again, I never got a last name so it wasn't so surprising that I didn't already know the connection.

Shrugging my shoulders, I put the slip back in the glove compartment and almost closed it again, when I noticed something very strange.

A piece of the bottom was crooked.

Sliding over into the passenger seat, I grab a tight hold of the plastic and pull upward. With a click it moved, as if it had been build that way. My eyes widen as I see the content, and I realize exactly why it had been hidden.

And perhaps even why Emmett had been so angry.

Two kilos of cocaine, a bag containing about ten thousand dollars in cash, and a Glock 17.

Lucky me.

I smirk to myself, turning to stare at the still closed door of Mixers. Now that I know what's in there, though, I figure maybe it's time for me to get the hell out of dodge.

They'd be out any minute now, I was sure.

I jump back in the driver's seat, buckle myself in and start the ignition. When I leave the parking lot and pass by the bar, I briefly see a murderously angered Emmett peering through the blurred, bathroom window.

Fucker.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

The sun is at its highest peak in the sky, when I park the car in the lot by the motel. I can see the sleazy manager peering at me from the so-called lobby and nod to him as I walk to my room.

Thankfully I knew that he wouldn't come to me just yet.

The way I had of ensuring a safe exit was telling the motel men that I was leaving one day after I actually left. By the time they came to my room to collect their pay, I was long gone.

Today wouldn't be any different.

Thirteen barks happily as I shut the door behind me, not upset despite the long hours I've been gone, as always. I chuckle at the various spots on the floor; after all, she hadn't been taken for a walk in over twelve hours.

"Good girl," I say, thinking of the creepy manager.

He and the poor cleaning lady would get themselves quite a surprise.

I pack up my few, meager belongings and throw my jacket over my arm, before going to the window and pulling the curtain aside. It only takes another twenty minutes for the manager to be busy with a few customers and that's when I strike.

Thirteen is smart enough to always know when to be quiet and we slowly make our way to my borrowed car. After cleaning the glove compartment out of anything but the pink slip, I get into my own car as Thirteen gets comfortable beside me.

Five minutes later only our dust is left behind.

Since I had been gone much longer than usual - I would normally come home in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark outside - I decide that my girl deserves a special treat.

And since I now have more than enough money…

After stopping by a gas station for some dry treats and directions, we come to a popular dog park on the outskirts of Montgomery and park the car. I turn to Thirteen and smile; knowing I'm about to make her very happy.

While she runs around the large field, interspersed with some trees here and there, I watch her from afar as I lean up against the car and suck on an Ace.

This is my favorite time of day.

Don't get me wrong, I love going to bars, messing with people's heads and definitely the part where I often got laid. But none of it could compare to the quiet times I would get to spend with the only being left who actually mattered.

My smile only grows, hearing her happy yips as she runs circles around a few other friendly dogs that she has found. I know it can be rough at times, not having any play mates, so I hope that this will make up for it, if only a little.

I'll have to remember the term dog park for the next big city we come to.

"Hi, there, it's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" A ridiculously perky voice says from beside me.

My smile vanishes as I turn to see a tiny, black-haired girl, staring up at me. Honestly, she must be a dwarf; she doesn't come up pass my knees, for crying out loud.

I may be exaggerating, but still…

"Uh, sure," I say, hoping she'll go away when she realizes that I'm not interested.

No such luck.

"I'm Alice," she continues, sticking her hand practically in my face, the biggest grin on her lips.

I wonder if she's on drugs.

"Good for you." I really want her to go away and I'm not opposed to physical violence.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I adopt the most fuck-you attitude that I can, staring out at the dogs on the field and hoping she'll get the picture.

Unfortunately, I have been stuck with the most incessant girl in the history of the world.

God dammit.

"What's your name?" As she is speaking she seems to almost jump up and down slightly, though I'm sure I must be seeing things.

Realizing that my normal routine of ignorance won't work with this one, I twist the top of my body toward her and note that her grin grows almost impossibly larger. She must have gotten it into her head that I was responding to her pushy nature.

Plastering a fake smile on my face, I finally respond. "Hi, Alice, so wonderful to meet you. My name is fuck off!" I say, my voice growing harder with each word.

She backs up as if I slapped her, tears growing in her eyes, and I groan. Great, she's playing the pity card.

And for some reason it's working.

Swallowing the knee-jerk reaction that is telling me to apologize, I wait for her to shove off, raising a brow at her to show that I meant what I said.

"You don't have to be mean," she stutters out, almost falling over her own feet in an attempt to get away. "I was just trying to be nice."

Once she was far enough away to resemble a dot, or a tiny ant, I let out a deep breath and shake my head. Where the hell was this pathetic emotional response coming from? I never cared before.

Hell, I just robbed two men, one who was actually somewhat nice, of thousands of dollars and other things that may end up getting them killed, and I still don't give two fucks.

But this little bitch…

Fuck.

Maybe I should go back to the free clinic and get my head examined.

Despite having only just thrown my cigarette to the ground I light yet another Ace, relieved to feel the smoke slip down my lungs as I purposely keep myself from turning my head to check on that Alice girl.

I had never been an emphatic person and I wasn't about to start now.

A slow and steady wind begins to fan out over the area, blowing my hair around my face, and causing the air to chill a bit. I reach into the backseat and grab my sweater, wrapping myself up in it as I also begin to wonder where we will end up next.

It would be a while until Thirteen and I would be all the way through the Bible belt, but I couldn't wait until that day came. I feel like I constantly have to look over my shoulder in this State, even more so now that I have two bartenders on my ass.

I wonder if maybe I shouldn't drop the whole drive-through-all-states-a-second-time thing that I had decided on last year; I would love to return to New York.

It had been my favorite of all the States.

The people there didn't pretend to be anything they weren't; they weren't nice, helpful or empathic, my exact kind of people.

It was also as far away from my so-called family as I could get; last I heard, the Dwyer's were living in Seattle, Washington, not too far from the small town where I was born.

Though I hated them for it.

I had only lived in Forks for five months when mother dearest had decided to escape with me, and I never returned. As far as my memory goes, I've never met my father and now I can't even go back, should I ever feel the need to, for fear of bumping into the three fucking Stooges.

And here I thought that leaving would stop them from ruining my life.

My fucking luck, right?

My head snaps up at the sound of Thirteen's growls and I see that she has gotten herself into a tuff with another dog; a much larger, fiercer one. Or so the image is.

No one can mess with my girl, she's too fucking tough for that.

Mama has taught her right.

I stomp on my cigarette and run over to help her out, especially once I see the other owner heading in the same direction. She looks like the kind of person who would kick someone else's pet, just to teach them a lesson.

Planning my escape routes in case someone decides to call the cops, I jump into the fray, grabbing the bitch's outstretched foot before it can reach Thirteen.

"Don't. Fucking. Dare."

I look into scared eyes and smirk.

Smart girl.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

Wincing at my bruised knuckles, I park the car in the tiny town I have finally made it to. It's getting more and more difficult to steer the wheel; one hand in a cast and the other smarting from what happened one hour ago.

At least I can comfort myself with the image of breaking that whore's nose before the approaching sirens left me and Thirteen running for the car.

Cutting off the ignition in front of a place called Y'all Come Novelty Shop, fucking backwater hicks, I whistle at Thirteen to join me.

One look around tells me that I would much rather be in the more famous Salem of Oregon State.

This seems like the kind of town that only has one of everything.

Wonderful.

However, as long as it has at least one bar I can deal. Especially since I won't have to count on others buying my drinks for me; not since the helpful cash from Douchebag the Bartender.

But before I can even think about my nightly events I have something else to take care of. As I reach into the backseat to grab my bag, I hear an unmistakable sound coming from the trunk.

A high-pitched voice muttering curses under her breath.

"Fuck," I exclaim, recognizing the voice despite having only heard it today for the first time.

I walk around the back of the car and pop open the trunk, not the least bit surprised by what I find. Or should I say, who I find.

"Get the fuck out, Alice."

Her slim legs are thrown over the edge and soon she's standing next to me, a sheepish but unapologetic look on her face. And that's when I finally notice her attire for the first time.

I had been too busy being annoyed to take a look at the dog park.

On her obviously dirty feet she wears weathered chucks, which have clearly seen too many years of use and are practically falling apart at the seams. Her denim mini-skirt is bloody in places and ripped in others, while her black tank and combined hoodie has different food stains and wear on them, as well.

She's homeless.

"I don't need or want your pity," she speaks, having seen the look on my face as I gazed over her appearance.

"Good, cause you're not getting it," I say, my voice growing harder at her words. "What I will give you is a swift kick in the ass; why the hell were you hiding in my trunk, you little bitch?"

Hands on her hips, she practically spits at me. "Cause you were leaving town; it was obvious you didn't belong in Montgomery. And I needed a way out. Last time I hitchhiked the fucker tried to feel me up, before I knocked two of his teeth out. I figured I'd be safer this way."

I sigh. "Well, you made a mistake. Safe is not the word I would use to describe me," I reply and her eyes instantly goes to my two injured hands.

No reason to tell her that one of them was self-inflicted.

Sort of.

"Whatever," she says, but I can tell that she's a bit more wary now. "Are you gonna kick my ass or can we get on with our lives? I promise I will find my own way from here on out, alright?"

My eyes narrow as I look at her, trying to determine whether or not she's telling the truth. Regardless, I would be double checking my trunk before leaving in the morning.

That shit was not happening twice.

"Fine, just get outta my sight," I sigh, turning away from her and joining Thirteen, who was waiting patiently by the sidewalk.

Forcing myself to keep my head forward, I make my way down the main street, stopping every now and then when Thirteen has to do some business; I never check to see if I'm being followed though I can swear I feel eyes in the back of my head.

I'm probably just imagining things.

It only takes another two minutes to stumble across the first motel and I'm very glad to not have to bribe the manager with sex for the first time in a long while; especially considering the female persuasion of said manager.

And she's definitely not a dyke.

She glares at Thirteen but never says anything about not allowing dogs in my room, which I was glad for. Not that I wouldn't have just snuck her in, anyway, but still.

It's thankfully been over a year since we were forced to sleep in the car; I don't like leaving her there when I go drinking.

After putting away my bags in the room, I decide to take my girl and go for a walk around town. Since it's so small it shouldn't take too long and in the end it will be good for the both of us.

I'm not getting nearly enough exercise these days.

Ignoring the annoyed stares I get at not walking with a leashed dog, I light up an Ace and gaze around at the varied shops, littered all around the main street of Salem, Alabama.

Though I find nowhere I would want to lay my cash, it does have a nice, friendly feel over it; one of the pluses of a small population town. Much like the one I was born in, this is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and people bring pies for newcomers.

I can't decide if that concept makes me wanna barf or long for the simpler times.

Back before Queen Bitch was born and I was promptly forgotten.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I sigh; I have to stop thinking about the past. It won't do me any good, anyway, so there's really no use.

Staying far away from Washington is more than just fear of running into anyone; it's to purposely let thoughts like these steer clear of my mind. If I don't see it, it doesn't exist; the mantra that has kept me sane for seven years, now.

Thankfully a little Podunk town like this doesn't have billboards; my first luck of the month.

A few minutes more pass, until I suddenly discover a hidden gem; a store that might actually prove to be useful; The Whistling Jar.

A regular brownstone building, it sits nestled between a small bank and a clothing store. The window is cluttered with various nick knacks and second-hand items. Before even going inside I can see a candelabra from the 17th century, a uniform from the Civil War and a rare, antique shaving kit, from before the razor came along.

I adore history.

Smiling at the bell that rings when I enter, I immediately make my way toward the register; people who work in places like these always have the most interesting stories to tell.

I'm sure this will be no different.

The girl behind the counter can't be much older than me, if she isn't in fact younger. Her shoulder-length hair is the color of corn silk and in two braids with purple string wrapped around them, all the way to the ends. Her eyes are blue, sparkling with mirth and attitude, surrounded by a thick line of black.

On her hands are thick, wool fingerless gloves and the hint of a tattoo in a circle around her wrist.

All in all, not exactly the kind of girl you'd expect to find in not only a small town, but a store such as this, too.

"What can I do you for?" she asks as I step up closer, and I can see her eyes dancing at the double entendre.

I return her smirk with one of my own. "Just taking a look around. I'm passing through town, staying here for the night, and thought I'd see what Salem had to offer."

She snorts. "Not much, to be honest. Seriously though, I don't know why people come here, especially if they come from big cities. I would love to live in New York or Los Angeles. Get the hell outta here and see what the world has to offer beyond this hellhole."

"I can understand that, but sometimes you have to pass through to get to somewhere else. Hence," I say, pointing a finger at myself in the process.

"That's true," she laughs, eyes crinkling at the move. "And who's the cutie with you?" She bends down as much she can with the counter in front of her, grinning at my girl.

I put my hand on top of her furry head. "This is Thirteen, my one and only. And I'm Bella," I say, holding out a hand for her to take.

"Mallory," she replies, gripping my hand to hers before letting go and coming around the table to personally greet Thirteen.

While the two of them get acquainted, I decide to take a walk around the small shop and see if it holds anything of interest. I used to love going to antique stores when I was younger; before Rosalie's inherent beauty came along and ruined my relationship with Renee. We would always go on trips together and come home with our arms stacked full of rare items.

It was one of the only things I still kept from my past.

My fingers gently touched the shelves as I passed them by, eyes taking in everything that I found; a miniature canon that was amazingly enough not the least bit rusty, an Aladdin-esque golden lamp, though not worth as much as one might think, an old fashioned knocker, shaped like a roaring lion.

The smile on my face is small, yet tender, lost as I am to the atmosphere of this place.

And then I see it.

"Jesus Christ, Mallory, do you have any idea what you have here?" I exclaim, causing the young girl to quickly come join me.

When she sees what has my attention, she rolls her eyes and snorts. "Yeah, I'm aware. I've tried to tell the owner not to put it up for sale but to go to an auction house instead, but she refuses. Either because she doesn't believe me or because she's just too lazy. Whatever reason, it's going at a price much cheaper than in a bookstore."

My eyes widen at her words and I peer closer at the tag; five dollars for a first edition of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen? Shit like this just doesn't happen.

Not to me, at least.

"I'll take it," I grin, turning to Mallory.

It's my favorite book but I haven't read it in three years; not since I lost my last copy in a river running through a small Maine town. For some reason, I had never gotten around to buying a new paperback and now I wouldn't have to.

Maybe it was fate, I thought with a snort; I'd never believed in such things.

Because that would mean believing that I had been purposely dealt a very shitty hand and that wasn't happening.

I controlled my own destiny, dammit.

Beside me, Mallory laughs and takes the book off the shelf. I note how carefully she handles it and like her even more for it; she obviously has a better understanding of valuables than the woman who owns The Whistling Jar.

When I look at my watch and realize the time I decide that it's enough for today and go with Mallory to the register to purchase my new book. While she punches it in and prepares the receipt, I look her up and down, bite my bottom lip and think hard about this.

"Hey, Mallory," I say, waiting for her to look up at me. "How old are you?"

She doesn't look too phased by my strange question. "Nineteen, why?"

I consider it; being a small town, there is no doubt that the people here will know her and thus know her age. But communities like these are never far between each other and surely there are other places in the area where she would be an unfamiliar face.

"I was wondering if you'd join me tonight for some drinks. We could go a few towns over and not worry about you being underage," I smile, because my request comes from more than just loneliness.

She almost seems like a kindred spirit; full of life, but without the chance to grab it. A chance I had only gotten when everything else in my life had turned to shit.

Her answering smile is mischievous. "That sounds awesome, Bella. And I think I know just the place." She packs up my book in a small bag and hands it to me, taking the five I offer. "I get off in an hour and a half. Where are you staying?"

"The motel just down the corner, by the novelty store," I reply, happy that she agrees to join me. "Do we take my car, or…?" I wonder out loud, since there is a very good chance that we will be too drunk to drive later.

She seems to be at the same place as me. "No, don't worry about that. There's a train that runs through most of the smaller communities in this part of Alabama and it's a twenty-four hour schedule. What will you do about Thirteen?"

"Oh, she's used to staying by herself in my room when I go out," I say, not bothering to explain that this was an everyday kinda thing for me.

"Alright, guess I'll see you in a few hours, then," she smiles and waves as Thirteen and I leave the store, bell ringing as the door shuts behind us.

This will be an interesting night.

**-*- Broken Road -*-**

Mallory hadn't disappointed.

A little more than an hour on the train and we were in Stewartville by the time ten o'clock rolled around. I didn't think it was possible to find a town smaller than Salem but I was definitely proven wrong.

However, it had what we needed; a bar that didn't bother asking for identification.

As it turned out, a college football team was staying in the larger city nearby and had had the same thought as us; it left us with plenty of conversation through the night and kept me from ever having to dive into my own pile of (stolen) cash.

Though I liked to think that I earned it.

When Mallory made the rookie mistake of actually paying through on her promise that kept us in drinks, I was forced to bruise my already injured hand when the drunken frat boy got a little too rough with her in the backseat of their bus.

Luckily for her I'd been on my way back to the train station and had overheard her struggles.

We spent the hour on the ride back drunkenly talking as she continued thanking me, over and over again. I tried to wave it off but she wouldn't hear of it. She kept mumbling about returning the favor though I can't fathom how she intends to do that.

Silly drunk girls; they're always such fun to be around.

Now, it was six in the morning and I had just dropped Mallory at her apartment to sleep it off. It only took another five minutes before I was back at my motel and ready to greet what I was sure was a tired Thirteen.

I should have known better than to think my luck had somehow turned in the three days since my trip to Mixers.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I say, frowning as I come up to the front doors of the motel.

"Saving your ass, so how 'bout you thank me," Alice replies as she pats my girl on the head.

The two of them are sitting out on the front stoop, Alice on top of my luggage; she has a slowly-forming black eye and her knuckles are slightly bruised.

I kneel down in front of Thirteen, checking her over, and when I'm satisfied that she's okay, I turn to the incessant little bitch who just doesn't know how to leave me alone.

"I will thank you if I feel you've earned it, now tell me what the fuck happened."

She rolls her eyes and sighs, but thankfully does as I ask. "I happened to be in the room next to yours and heard the key turning in the lock. The footsteps were too harsh to be yours so I looked out the window and saw the manager's son. He'd introduced himself earlier, but I made it clear I wasn't interested. Looks like he thought he found someone else to place his unwanted attentions on," she says, raising a brow in my direction.

I nodded for her to continue. "Anyway, I knew you'd left your dog in there, cause I'd heard her earlier, so I listened closely to see what would happen. I guess she thought it was an intruder, which I suppose it was, and she attacked. When that bastard ran crying to mama, she kicked you out and when I tried to talk to her, things got a little physical. When she threatened to call the Sheriff, I figured it was time to back out gracefully."

I lean back in shock; she had defended me? After I gave her nothing but shit, too. Not exactly what I was expecting.

My frozen heart was far from melting; this wasn't a fucking fairy tale, but I knew she deserved something in return. Something big.

I sat down next to Thirteen, running my hand through the fur on her back as I thought over what to do. I knew what it was, of course, but I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't regret it horribly, down the road.

Sighing, I knew I had no other choice. "Fine, you can ride with me from here on out. But you're taking the backseat," I say, pointing a finger at her. "You don't ask about me or my past, you understand that Thirteen comes first, and you pitch in every now and then for food and gas."

"Thank you, thank you," she exclaims, throwing her tiny arms around me.

I push her away. "And absolutely no touching."

She shrugs, still smiling at me. "Any more rules I should know about, before we go?"

I roll my eyes. "Not as of yet, but I'm sure I'll think of more eventually." I rise from the sidewalk, grab my luggage out from under Alice and whistle at Thirteen. Walking to the car, I turn back around. "Oh, and my name is Bella."

* * *

**Authors Note;** Title song is **Broken and Ugly **by **Beth Hart**, a brilliant lyricist and singer. Check out the song on YouTube if you're smart. xD


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